


Feel the Burn

by hey_malarkey



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Constipation, Incest, LITERALLY, M/M, Stancest - Freeform, god what do i even tag here??, graphic depictions of bowel movements, little bit of ass burn, poop, poopgasm, shit fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-30
Updated: 2019-03-30
Packaged: 2019-12-26 13:41:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18283436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hey_malarkey/pseuds/hey_malarkey
Summary: Ford was used to being uncomfortable. He spent thirty years being uncomfortable, for goodness sakes! But since returning home, and settling down from the summer’s events, he hasn’t really had many chances to be physically uncomfortable. That opportunity is making itself wildly known, now, and it's driving him to distraction.





	Feel the Burn

**Author's Note:**

> don't like/don't read/don't leave a mean comment
> 
> (nasty comments are allowed because this is a nasty fic, lol)
> 
> I want to say I don't know where this came from, but I do. Because it was dam fun to make Ford squirm. Enjoy!

Ford was used to being uncomfortable. He spent thirty years being uncomfortable, for goodness sakes! But since returning home, and settling down from the summer’s events, he hasn’t really had many chances to be physically uncomfortable.

And that’s why now, standing as he was on the deck of the Stan-O-War II, he discreetly tried shaking one leg, then the other, pacing slowly.

Was it his underwear that was caught, riding up? Is that what it was? Was it something he ate causing gas to escape quietly but with an increasing burn?

Ford glanced beside him and saw Stan was still engrossed with the carving in his hands. He snuck one hand to his waist band and dived in, deftly picking his underwear from between his crack, scratching the inner cheek and feeling the burn come a little more to life. He removed his hand and brought it to his side, gripping the loose fabric of his overcoat as he tried to figure it out.

He was deeply acquainted with how his body works. He had to be. He had to know what his limits were, and when the discomfort or pain would become unbearable, so he could get to a safe location to recuperate.

This was not the same. He was a free man in the middle of the ocean. No need to hide, and nowhere to do it anyway.

But still the discomfort nagged at him. He’d been walking around for a week trying to figure out what his issue was.

He was too embarrassed to bring it up to Stan. What would he say? ‘Hey, Stan, my asshole hurts and I can’t figure out why. No, I haven’t bottomed recently, I don’t know why either.’ And suffer through any number of jokes in poor taste his brother would inevitably come up with before admitting he had no ideas to solve it either.

No. He’d have to struggle on in silence. He finished his notes as best as he could while the faint burning caused him to change position fairly often, still feeling as if something vaguely spiky was running itself along his hole as he did so.

He went below deck and set his journal down. There was one possible avenue he hadn’t tried, and thinking back on his schedule he realized he was past due…

He rifled through the boxes of food and came upon the OWL-Os, which Stan had crossed out with a permanent marker and written FORD-Os instead, much to Stan’s amusement.

He sat down and began eating them straight form the box, reading the nutritional information list as he did so. The phrase he was seeking caught his eye a ways down… _high in fiber_.

Yes, he was past due for what should be a, ah,  _regular_  occurrence. Perhaps the feeling would diminish if he used his body the way it is meant to?

With a good, solid, poop.

He dreaded knowing how it would stretch him as it passed through him. If too solid, how the discomfort would intensify. But if he remained incontinent, the possibility of constipation struck him as far more uncomfortable than the vague pain he felt currently. Had they any awareness, he felt his other organs would agree with that assessment.

-

Later he felt it. The muscles contracting and relaxing almost in anticipation. Warning him. He made his way to the wet room, closing the door and spinning in place, already unbuckling his pants to drop his trousers. He leaned forward as he sat locking it. He didn’t want Stan to continue his unfortunate habit of walking in while he was using the facilities. Especially now.

He felt the stretch on his inner muscles as he sat, clenching his cheeks before relaxing, his body rumbling slightly as he felt the mass make its way to his opening.

The burning intensified when he contracted his muscles, leaning forward so his back was flat, elbows on knees jutting up near his chin. He was glad he’d convinced Stan to put in the little steps on either side of the toilet to prop their feet on. It was better for their colons to be in a natural squatting position, but hard on their knees to get down that far. The stationary stool (Ford winced internally as he thought of a few ‘stool’ puns) was conducive to a better bathroom experience for men their age.

He took a deep breath, exhaling through his nose as he relaxed enough for the first turd to slide through. He heard it splash into the bowl as another was already on its way.

_Oh,_  he thought. Because it did hurt, somewhat. He wiggled slightly as he continued defecating, small sounds of adjusting to the sensation escaping his lips.

His face red, his ass burning, he sat at the toilet for a long time. When he finally wiped and stood he felt moderately better, if not a bit sore from being in the cramped position for so long.

Flushing and washing his hands took no time at all. He left the wet room and checked his watch. He swallowed hard. It had been nearly an hour. He listened for Stan’s voice, unwilling to have to explain if his absence was questioned. He crept up the short stairs and saw his brother still busy with his fishing line.

He sighed in relief and returned downstairs. Maybe now he could focus and finish his notes on their latest anomaly.

Unfortunately, patience was never really Ford’s strong suit. Sitting once again caused a sting of that earlier discomfort. Ford sighed but ignored it.

Over the next couple hours, minor changes in position bothered him more than it should. He snuck his hand beneath his waistband a few more times, itching around the muscles lightly. Very gently scratching inside the edges of his hole, too. Anything to relieve himself.

-

As the day was turning to evening, he heard Stan come down and start to putter around in the kitchen. Soon he heard his brother’s indelicate proclamation of “Food! Or whatever nerd pill you get it on.” Ford entered the galley and grabbed a fork. Looks like Stan had fried an earlier catch. Oh, and canned green beans, excellent. They ate out of the bowls they were prepared in, both of a mind to not bother wasting dishes they’d only have to wash more of later.

They ate in companionable silence, as they did on many nights. Sometimes their day warranted detailed replays rehashing, whether they were separated or together, based on activity. But today was a mostly normal day for both—or that’s all Ford would admit to, anyway.

Ford stood to clear the dishes once they were done. He felt only a slight spike of discomfort and nearly cheered aloud. Finally! As he gathered the pot that formerly held green beans he impulsively kissed Stan on the forehead.

Stan looked bemused but didn’t comment on Ford’s impulsive affection. Ford’s movements were much less stiff than earlier, he did notice.

Ford hummed under his breath as he washed up. Stan sat back and watched him for a while. As he was finishing up Stan stood to come up beside Ford. Rubbing one hand over his brother’s back, watching him finish the last few dishes.

“Somebody’s in a good mood.”

Ford turned and smiled at Stan, leaning towards him to give another quick peck on the cheek, drying the utensils in his hands.

Stan broadened the circles he was drawing on Ford’s back, going a little lower.

“What did ya do, take some good notes today?”

Ford laughed and put the last couple things on the rack to dry without wiping them down first, turning fully to Stan, leaning back against the counter.

“Actually, I was stuck on a rather difficult problem, for a while. Like an itch you just can’t scratch,” Ford said as he leaned into Stan, kissing along his jaw, damp hands going to hold his brother’s hips.

“But you figured it out? Is that what this is? Got excited by science?” Stan laughed as he held Ford’s back, still making light circles with his broad palms.

Ford put his forehead against Stan’s shoulder. “I only get excited by you, Stanley.” Stan felt a small wave of warmth go through him at that.

Ford kissed his collarbone before bringing his head back up to look Stan in the eye, a strangely intense look there. “Will you enter me, tonight?”

Stan laughed, taken by surprise at the way Ford worded that. “Yeah, bro, of course. But, y’know, you can just call it fucking.” Ford kissed him, stopping Stan’s chuckles in their tracks. Ford let his mouth fall open to Stan’s exploring tongue, and his hands brought Stan’s hips closer to him.

They stumble-stepped their way through the galley and into the main cabin, falling on their bed, still tangled together. Ford felt an echo of that earlier burn when he landed on his ass, despite the cushioning beneath him. But Stan’s weight was a welcome feeling as they divested themselves of their clothes.

The faint burning had become less noticeable as time wore on. But as Stan snatched the lube and spread his cheeks with a quick kiss to one shoulder before sticking his finger in, Ford felt it come back with a vengeance.

But  _oh_ , it felt so good as well. Stan giving a good, slow poke in and out. It was providing that very necessary itch relief he couldn’t quite give himself all afternoon. When he added a second finger Ford moaned, long and low, body already tight with anticipation.

“Just relax, Sixer, come on, easy now, there ya go,” Stan muttered behind him as he leisurely fingered him. Ford was letting out short little  _hahhs_  and  _ohhs_  and he knew Stan would know something was up, he was never this vocal during prep, but he couldn’t help it. It felt amazing having Stan do this. As his third finger entered he nearly cried with how good the stretch and burn felt, now, compared to earlier.

“F-fuck me, Stanley, I need it,” Ford moaned, not caring how ridiculous he sounded. Behind him he heard Stan breathing heavier, clearly turned on by how needy he was being. Hmm, he’d have to experiment more with that when he wasn’t so desperate for relief.

Stanley entered him slowly, bottoming out and body holding close to Ford’s own, dick fully sheathed in his ass. Ford was practically seeing stars. Stan hadn’t yet hit his prostate, but it didn’t matter. His passage was feeling the rub of Stan’s cock from all sides as Stan slid out slowly and then rocked back in. With just a few starting thrusts Ford was eagerly rocking back into Stan.

“Slow down there, Ford, we got all night,” Stan panted in his ear, gradually quickening his pace.

Ford shook his head, sweat dropping from his forehead to the sheets below him. He rocked against Stan’s body and felt the delicious way his hole burned and the relief he’d needed all day as Stan thrust harder.

Euphoria hit him as Stan hit his prostate, and he screamed, the sensations overwhelming him. He heard Stan shushing him even as he sped up again, brutally thrusting into him and burning his ass up.

It was everything he needed. It was so perfect that he came almost as soon as Stan touched his dick, just getting off a few quick pumps and one twist of his wrist before Ford came all over his brother’s hand. He barely kept himself from collapsing against his mess and the sheets by Stan’s strong arm still around him. As his body quaked with satisfaction Stan finished himself off, coming inside of him.

As they came down from their respective highs, Stan pulled Ford close to him, back to the body pillow they’d all but stapled to the wall. He was rubbing circles in Ford’s back again as he held Ford to his chest, kissing his sweaty hair and smoothing it down.

“Thank you, Stan,” Ford said, rather hoarse.

Ford felt Stan shrug his shoulders and then chuckle low in his chest. “No problem, Ford. Did ya finally get rid of that itch?” Ford could hear the smirk in Stan’s voice as he looked up at his brother, coming a little more aware after his post-orgasm haze.

“What do you uh, ah, mean?” Ford asked, trying to focus on Stan’s face.

“Oh, you know. You left the empty box of FORD-O’s on the counter and a nail indent under the nutrition info that said “fiber.” I know how you get, Ford.” He slid his hand down from Ford’s hair to cup his jaw, the other hand settling low on Ford’s back, almost to his crack. “So, did I get the scratch settled, for ya?”

Ford’s face burned red and he stuttered around an answer, eventually just burying his head back into Stan’s chest, smothering himself in all that silver hair. He felt Stan laugh again, smacking him lightly on the ass before rubbing it just as he’d done for his back.

“Don’t worry, Sixer. The only pain in your ass you’re allowed to have is  _me_.”

Ford groaned but smiled, laughing with Stan as they cuddled together. He muttered another, “Thank you, Stanley,” as he drifted off. He was sure he’d have to face more questions and teasing for it tomorrow. But for tonight he reveled in the satisfaction of his loving brother and an asshole that no longer burned with discomfort.


End file.
